


blood

by onbeinganangel



Series: kinkuary 2021 [9]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Creature Fic, Cunnilingus, Dubious Consent, F/F, Fingerfucking, Fuck Or Die, HP Kinkuary 2021, Veela Fleur Delacour, Veela Mates, but i cannot stress it enough how much these two want this, i am tagging it dubious consent just to be safe, in which tonks finds out wings are kind of hot, outside of the fuck or die situation, this is v v v v v consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:08:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29353986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onbeinganangel/pseuds/onbeinganangel
Summary: This isn’t how Tonks imagined kissing Fleur for the first time. She’d imagined something worthy of Fleur. A coffee date, a picnic, an evening stroll. Holding hands in museums, maybe getting sweaty at a gig, or trudging through the busy wizarding side of Camden market. She’d imagined a tentative kiss, a slow and soft touch of lips with Fleur bent over her, Tonks on her tiptoes.
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Nymphadora Tonks
Series: kinkuary 2021 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2137662
Comments: 6
Kudos: 44
Collections: HP Kinkuary 2021





	blood

**Author's Note:**

> You ever just... really want to take a girl out on proper date and buy her flowers and hold her hand but instead you end up fingerbanging her in your bed because you're her Veela mate and she'll perish if you don't do the deed? Ugh, what a mess.
> 
> Tiny wee note to say that there is one small mention of blood and also there are wings and talons and the whole Veela package so you may want to stay away if that's not for you.
> 
> Otherwise, I'm just going to apologise for the amount of feelings I accidentally dropped into my porn. 
> 
> As always, thanks to [Uphorie](https://uphorie.tumblr.com) for fixing up my commas and typos!

The first knock comes in the middle of the night. Tonks throws the covers back, gets out of bed and wonders what the fuck is going on. Work would get in touch through the Floo or via Patronus, so would her mother, or Merlin forbid, the Order. She doesn’t bother even grabbing her house coat — if the Muggle neighbour is knocking on her door, it must be an emergency — but she slides her feet into her fluffy slippers and runs down the corridor, wand tucked into her sleeping shorts, _just in case._

She opens the door to _light._ There’s no other way to describe it, at first. Against that middle of the night darkness, when there are no lights on in the house and not a lot of light shines into the hallway from the lampposts outside of the flat, the amount of light is blinding. She stumbles backwards a couple of steps and pulls her wand out. Nothing Muggle can make that much light.

She blinks, desperately, in fear. And when her eyes finally adjust to the amount of light, she vaguely recognises the shape emitting it. 

“F— Fleur?” She asks.

At first, there’s no answer. But either the light is fading or Tonks’ eyes are getting used to it, because she can finally discern actual features, and as she does — golden white hair, moonlight bright skin, a button nose, big round eyes and a river of tears flowing down her face.

_Fuck._

“Fleur? Fleur, are you alright?”

If she’s being honest, she’s a little scared of touching Fleur. She’s never seen anything like this, doesn’t know what to make of it, but she has to bring her into the flat before the Muggles see her. 

Tonks takes another few steps back and does a vague motion with her hand from Fleur and then around the house in that odd “please do come in” gesture all people do.

Fleur is sobbing, shaking but she does walk in. The door shuts and it takes Tonks a minute to realise she did that with her magic. She feels pathetic asking again but she has to. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

Now that the bright light doesn’t hurt her eyes so much, Tonks feels her heart leaping at how beautiful it is. How it makes Fleur look the way Tonks always sees her anyway. _Luminous, inviting, pulling her in._

Fleur hiccoughs once more, lets out a wail-like long sob, and finally speaks, all at once, and very quickly, “I am sorry, I didn’t kno—“ sob, “I didn’t know I could do this, my mother said it wouldn’t happen. I’m only a quarter—“ sob, “a _quarter_ Veela.” 

Oh.

“I need—“ sob, “Nymphadora, I am dying.”

“WHAT?” It comes out like a screech, a horrified, loud screech. Which isn’t wrong. It is, actually, incredibly appropriate. Fleur can’t die. Tonks is a tough girl. She can deal with being just friends with Fleur, she can deal with the fact that Fleur doesn’t love her back. That’s all fine. But Fleur _can’t die._

Fleur is shaking again, as if it’s the height of winter, despite the sweltering heat of Tonks’ tiny flat. 

“I need to ask you something, Tonks. You don’t understand.”

Helga, anything. Anything. “Of course, whatever I can do to help.”

Fleur sobs again at Tonks’ reply. She’s not sure what to make of that.

“I am so sorry. I am so sorry.” 

For a second, Tonks thinks she’s dreaming. Fleur takes one long shaky breath and Tonks finds herself mimicking it. Then Fleur speaks again:

“I know we are friends, I have no right to ask this of you. And I know you don’t love me, and that’s fine. But I need— I will die— We have to—“

There’s very little time to argue “we are friends” and “I know you don’t love me” once Tonks realises what Fleur is trying to say.

“We have to fuck,” she finishes for Fleur. “Or you’ll die.”

Fleur sobs again. There’s little time to think, plan, consider. Tonks’ heart is hammering in her chest when she reaches for Fleur, and as soon as they touch, the blinding light subsides to a soft glow and Fleur sighs in relief. She almost blurts out “I want to be more than friends” and “I really do love you,” but it doesn’t seem like the most romantic or appropriate moment to do so.

This isn’t how Tonks imagined kissing Fleur for the first time. She’d imagined something worthy of Fleur. A coffee date, a picnic, an evening stroll. Holding hands in museums, maybe getting sweaty at a gig, or trudging through the busy wizarding side of Camden market. She’d imagined a tentative kiss, a slow and soft touch of lips with Fleur bent over her, Tonks on her tiptoes.

Of all the things she’d imagined, she had never considered Fleur would also be in love with her, let alone the fact that Fleur’s dormant Veela genes would decide Tonks was her mate. She had never considered Fleur turning up on her doorstep, dying and willing to die if this wasn’t something Tonks wanted. 

Fleur is still frozen in that same spot, Tonks’ hand wrapped around her. Fleur is dying. Fleur is a Veela and could have come into her house and obliterated her in seconds, but she’s here just looking, hoping, asking for permission. She could have come into the house, wings and talons — can she do that too, on top of the shining and the mating? — and she could have simply told Tonks they had to fuck. Instead she’s being polite. And dying, in front of Tonk’s very eyes, for the sake of politeness.

“Gods, you’re stupid,” Tonks says, without really meaning to, and pulls Fleur into her and down into a kiss. It’s not the kiss she’d dreamed of but, holy shit, she’s kissing Fleur. 

There’s no time to wonder what it would have been like if it wasn’t like this, because kissing Fleur has unleashed something in her (or the Veela? Are they one and the same?) and Fleur is pushing Tonks backwards towards the bedroom, and Tonks laughs against her mouth when she trips and loses a slipper, and then again, and knocks her elbow on the doorframe.

“Is this okay?” Fleur asks.

Fuck, it is okay.

“Yes,” she says against her mouth. “Yes, it’s okay.”

“I can’t— I can’t stop if we keep going.”

And it comes out desperate, way more than she intended for it to: “Don’t stop, don’t stop.”

Tonks realises she never got a chance to see what Fleur was wearing — she was too concerned by the glowing and the sobbing, but suddenly Fleur has pulled off whatever it was she was wearing and she’s now standing in Tonks’ room, fully naked — still shining, glowing, her hair flowing behind her in a breeze that doesn’t exist. 

Tonks freezes and that’s when Fleur asks again, “Is this okay?”

She jumps at the opportunity and tosses her t-shirt on the floor, slides her shorts off. _This isn’t how I imagined it, but gods, it is happening,_ she thinks again. Then, for a split second, she remembers Fleur’s noncommittal answer about her sexuality many moons ago. The fact that Tonks is her mate should be enough, but she’s been with enough partners who expected her to change for them, and finds herself asking “Is… do you want me to…” she’s unsure on how to phrase it, heart ready to sink when Fleur inevitably tells her she doesn’t Tonks for how she is. 

“Do you want me to change?” She settles for, with a vague motion towards her crotch, which makes her feel dumb and pathetic and vulnerable.

“ _Non_ ,” Fleur says quickly, slipping into French. “No, Tonks, no. _Je te veux._ I want _you_.”

And with that, she’s on Tonks again.

Falling into bed is easy. It’s all rather easy, not that Tonks has a say in it now. Fleur’s movements are more and more desperate as she moves against Tonks, bodies slotted together, side by side.

When Tonks slides down Fleur’s body and bites at her thighs, she gets her answer to her earlier questions about the talons, as they dig into her shoulder in a thrilling mixture of pleasure and pain and she knows from the little bit of blood that trickles out and falls on the duvet that ordinary human nails don’t cause that amount of damage.

She’s not complaining as she covers Fleur’s hips and thighs in kisses, bites and licks. She runs her fingers through the little triangle of blonde curls and feels that familiar feeling of heat inside her like a hot iron rod. 

Fleur is moaning, sobbing again, and says “ _Merde_. You have to, you have to, _j'ai besoin que tu_ …”

Tonks has no fucking idea what the french means, but she’s pretty confident that she knows what “she has to.”

It’s hard to silence the voice in her head reminding her of how many times she thought of this, she’s pictured doing it, right in this bed. She tells that voice maybe they’ll have time to do romance later, to take it slow, to take their time with soft tentative touches. This isn’t the time for it.

She does relish in the little shivers, the shake of Fleur’s legs as she lowers her mouth down, closer and closer, making sure Fleur feels her hot breath against her before she sinks down fully, with long and steady motions of her tongue. Fleur is desperate now, and Tonks wants to know how much of it is desire and how much of it is this fucked up situation they found themselves in. 

Fleur is wet, hot and needy and Tonks wants to devour her. She knows already she’d happily spend hours like this. At a long moan that sounds suspiciously like “more,” Tonks sinks a finger into Fleur. 

Fleur’s body undulates under her, soft and pliant and hot and everything she’s ever dreamed of. She wants to look at Fleur when she comes, though. She wants to see what she looks like. She climbs over Fleur and straddles her, hand going back to her wet cunt, two fingers sinking back in. Fleur has her eyes closed, arms thrown over head. That’s when she spots them. It’s almost funny that she’d been so focused she had missed them. But they’re impossible to miss now. Big and white, little specs of brown and blue at the tips of the feathers. Fleur’s Veela wingspan is probably twice Tonks’ height and she can’t take her eyes off them. 

It should be disturbing, a little, to realise your lover has sprouted out wings while you were eating her out. And yet — it’s the hottest fucking thing she’s ever experienced. She lets Fleur buck wildly against her fingers and rubs gentle circles on her clit with her other hand. 

In the end, she doesn’t get to see what Fleur looks like when she comes because when she does, the bright light flashes again and blinds them both. 

_"Je pense… ah, non._ French. Wait. I think… I think it worked?” Fleur says.

Tonks realises with a pang of disappointment that the wings are gone.

“Are you okay? Is that okay? I am so sorry,” Fleur says, rapid and worried.

“That was perfect,” Tonks says, and kisses her, wondering if that’s inappropriate now they saved Fleur’s life. “Are you going to be okay?”

Fleur sighs, and nods her head. “I think so. I am not in pain anymore.”

“Good,” Tonks says, and pulls the duvet up over the both of them.

“Can we do this again?” Fleur says, very quietly.

She doesn’t know whether to cry or smile but she curls in on herself and tucks herself against Fleur’s warm body. “Yeah. In the morning. You need to sleep now.”

She doesn’t say “I love you, I’d never let you die,” but she decides maybe she will. In the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> for a more hyperactive and extremely chatty version of me, come say hi [on tumblr](https://onbeinganangel.tumblr.com)


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